


visions swirling / let me tell you mine

by emeraldcitydowntowngirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Band, M/M, TONS of injuries, also some blood, ashlee simpson is the best, lots of injuries, pete's kind of weird, some making out, super small recreational drug use, ya know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8209750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldcitydowntowngirl/pseuds/emeraldcitydowntowngirl
Summary: AU: i’ve seen you several times around school and every time you’ve seen me tripping over something i swear it’s not because i’m swooning at how hot you are(with some slight* alterations)((*lots of alterations were made when i wrote this prompt. but it's pretty much the same concept. except pete DOES swoon at how hot patrick is... but ya know. SLIGHT alterations)





	

**Author's Note:**

> a good idea, poor execution. but im still posting it because... idk i worked hard on it and i sorta love it even though i could never see it happening in real life... it fit the mood i was in when i was writing but now it just seems weird. am i thinking 2 much about this? maybe
> 
> anyways- title is from "juliet of the spirits" by B-52, the song that they listen to @ pete's and you should also 100% check out "junk of the heart (happy)'" by the kooks aka the song that they listen 2 in pete's car. both are jams in different ways.

“I hope we have a new kid. A new _hot_ kid.” Ashlee says, leaning up against the locker next to Pete’s- she says this every year and it never happens, so Pete doesn’t even try to humor her anymore. He just hums, uninterested, and he closes his locker without putting anything in, or taking anything out.

He has to make sure he remembers his combo. In all honesty, however, he could probably never forget it. It’s muscle memory, which he thinks is pretty sad. But it’d be even sadder if he had to go down to the main office and ask for his passcode to his own fucking locker, the same one he’s had since he was 14.

“Do you think–“ She begins to ask, and Pete looks up. “No.”

She crosses her arms. Pete still isn’t really sure why Ashlee likes hanging out with him, but it might be that whole ‘cheerleader/jock’ thing. It’s not like Pete plays football, or basketball, or lacrosse, or anything else remotely cool.

“Why not?” She asks instead, following Pete down the hall to his first period class, even though she has sociology on the other side of the school. It’s the first day of school, and Pete watches as freshmen look around, bumping into each other and looking up and down, back and forth from their purple schedules to the numbers on the top of classrooms.

Pete shrugs. “Because no one transfers during their senior year.”

“Yeah, but you never know. Can I see your schedule?”

It’s really easy to talk to Ashlee, even though she gets on his last nerves. Like, yeah, she’s sort of the closest person Pete has to a best friend (he has lots of friends– soccer friends, friends from shows, friends from orchestra, but not really a _best friend_ , best friend.), but Ashlee is… _Ashlee_. He doesn’t get a lot of what she talks about, but he listens, and she listens when he talks about things that Ashlee doesn’t get either.

“We have AP Literature together. And the same gym period, and the same 2 free periods. And orchestra, duh,” Ashlee says, and another cheerleader a couple of feet away calls her name, so she hastily hands Pete back his schedule, “I gotta go– if we have a new kid in AP Lit, you owe me 5 bucks!”

“I never–“ He begins to yell back, _he never made a bet in the first place_ , but he knows she can’t hear him over their screaming. _Oh well_ , he thinks. He’s going to be 5 dollars richer by 3rd period.

* * *

Now, Pete would normally be upset about the fact that he owes Ashlee 5 bucks (his summer job as a lifeguard at the pool ended two weeks ago. And about 95% of his money was spent on a new bass, helping Gabe replace his parent’s liquor cabinet, and shows. Oh, and _not_ saved up for college. Ugh, _college_.)

But Pete can’t be upset, because the new kid in his AP Literature class is cute. He’s really cute. The second Patrick Stumph walks into class, Pete begins making up fantasies in his head, as girly as that sounds. They start off tame, like Pete pulling Patrick in for a kiss, letting Patrick push him up the lockers, and Pete walking with him down the hallway. But then, even when Patrick sits two seats in front, one seat to the right, of him, they start getting weird. Pete’s hands sliding beneath his shirt, down his jeans, and Pete almost misses his own name when his teacher reads it off the roster.

He’s not sure what about Patrick is so… he doesn’t know the word. He’s short, and he has some acne on his forehead, little spots, identical to ones Pete has too. And he has these sideburns, and his glasses are too large for him, and they keep sliding down his nose, and he looks kind of mysterious, Pete just wants to figure out everything about him. It’s kind of weird and intense. He doesn’t really like it, but he wants more.

They don’t do that bullshit ‘ _tell me about yourself_ ’ thing that they normally do. Pete guesses it’s because they’re old now, and they’re seniors, and _this is an AP class_. They sit and listen to their teacher talk about the test, their grading system; stuff that Pete knows already. And the period passes by kind of quickly, (Pete gets up to the part in his head where Patrick spreads lube over his fingers, staring down at Pete through his square glasses. He doesn’t know how he got there), and the bell ringing takes him by surprise. He pulls out his wallet from his pocket, and when he walks by Ashlee’s desk (she sits right in front of Patrick. Screw alphabetical order), rests the 5 dollar bill on her desk.

“You win.” He says, and Ashlee raises her eyebrows. “What are you…wait, you thought he was hot?”

“You didn’t?” “Um… well, we have very different tastes in guys if you thought he was hot.”

But Ashlee takes the note, and she shoves it in her back pocket. “But thanks. Walk with me to my locker? I can’t believe that dumb bitch–“ aaaand that’s where things start going in one ear and out the other.

His brain is all fuzzy and he doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but whatever it was, it occupied him from their classroom, to Ashlee’s locker, to right by the staircase. That happens a lot. He thinks a lot, and things get jumbled in his brain until he’s not sure what it was he was thinking of in the first place. That’s why his writing is so shitty, why his poetry, his lyrics, will never be good. They don’t follow any train of thought. It’s something Pete should work on, but he never does.

They reach the staircase, and right before Pete steps down on the first step, he sees a flash of strawberry blond hair. Or is it brown? Or is it red? Or–

He gets that feeling of brief panic that he normally gets before he slips and falls on his ass when he plays soccer. But that ‘brief panic’ is only brief because the only thing on Pete’s mind as he free falls down the flight of stairs, is that falling down a flight of stairs, bumping into students as he slides down, would be a pretty sad way to die. Especially because the only reason he lost his footing was because he was staring at Patrick Stumph, someone he’s never talked to in his life. Someone who wasn’t in his life 43 minutes ago. He lands on his wrist, and he bangs his head on the wall _hard_ , and then everything turns black.

* * *

His wrist isn’t broken. It hurt so bad that Pete cried in the nurse’s office, but it wasn’t broken. Gabe brought over pot brownies to make him feel better, after he laughed for 10 minutes straight at a video someone took of Pete falling. Pete feels a little sick watching blood steadily pour out of his nose, right at the end of the video, and he rubs at his sore and bruised nose unconsciously, but then Pete finishes half a brownie (which is pretty much his limit), and everything feels fuzzy and weird again. But a good weird. They watch a movie, baked as all hell, and Pete’s mother asks if she can try a brownie when she comes in to make sure Pete doesn't need anything. Pete giggles, and tells her ‘ _no’_ , and then says that Gabe put peanuts in them. His mom hates peanuts, so she leaves them alone. And then they laugh about that.

“Where the fuck do you get this shit?” Pete asks languidly, and Gabe shrugs. “I have connections.” “You’re so stupid.”

Pete thinks he would have a crush on Gabe, _could_ have a crush on Gabe if he tried. But with Patrick, someone he’s never talked to, it comes so naturally. He wants to eat pot brownies with Patrick. Laugh with him, kiss him. It feels unhealthy, but nothing Pete ever does is really healthy if he thinks about it… Is it healthy to fall down stairs because you were wondering about someone’s hair color?

Ashlee comes over for a little bit too, and she looks at the brownies, back at Gabe and Pete, and back at the brownies. And then she pulls one apart, until the half becomes a fourth, and she puts that in her mouth, and says while she chews, “I’m so sorry, Pete, I should have–“

“Dude,” Pete says, and Ashlee rolls her eyes, but she listens on anyways. “You didn’t have to do anything, everything happened so quickly. I’m going back to school tomorrow, it’s cool.”

She finishes chewing, and she hums in content, lying horizontally at the foot of Pete’s bed, and she waits for everything to settle in. “What were you thinking about anyways?”

“Patrick Stumph.” Pete doesn’t miss a beat. Gabe laughs, and he shakes his head, “That nerdy new kid? He’s super greasy looking.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only seen his face for a total of, like, a minute. But he’s cute.” Pete draws out the ‘u’ in ‘cute’. Ashlee laughs, and Gabe laughs, and then Pete doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he laughs too.

“You should talk to him.” Gabe says, “Become his friend. Or Ashlee can become his friend, and then you can make your way in there. Ashlee is a lot less weird than you. And she’s pretty. And she’s nice. And she won’t fall down a flight of stairs when she looks at him.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Ashlee asks, blinking at Gabe like no one has ever told her that before, and Pete rolls his eyes. _Not this again._

Although, he supposes he’s worse. At least Ashlee has a crush on a guy she talks to. Pete has a crush on a guy who probably doesn’t know his name. It’s probably not even a crush. It’s like… _creepy_. It’s a creepy infatuation.

He’d be more concerned, but then the brownie _really_ hits him, and well. That thought goes out the door. 

* * *

 

For all 4 years of high school (well, maybe 3 and a day), Pete has never had a locker neighbor. His locker is in the most inconvenient spot in the world, and he only ever goes to put his jacket in there when it gets cold, with the occasional visit to pick up a textbook.

Or, in this case, to pick up his summer reading book. He walks in with Ashlee like he always does. His locker is all the way in the corner of a hallway he never goes down beside to make this trip, and it’s tucked away from everything else. The inside of it is bare, unlike Ashlee’s locker. She has pictures of her cheerleading friends in there, a shelf, a mirror. She even has a picture of Pete, from when they were freshmen. Pete looked hideous, but he doesn’t look all that much different now. Gabe has a little white board in his locker, and he writes stuff down on it like, _‘text William from apchem for the HW’,_ and _‘ask ****** to the senior dinner’_. But Pete’s locker is plain. Ugly.

“It’s only the second day of school and I’m already done with everything, Pete.” Ashlee complains, and Pete opens his mouth to reply, something along the lines of, ‘ _at least you didn’t fall and make a total fucking fool out of yourself_ ’, but then he sees Patrick.

At the locker next to his. Opening the door, unloading his bag, putting stuff in there. Staring at the inside of it with a look of disdain.

It’s destiny, Pete decides. He hears Ashlee gasp softly next to him, and she pushes him forward a little, “Go on,” she says, “I’m going to go and leave you two alone. Bye bye.”

And then she leaves. Pete tries to move his feet, but they feel stuck to the ground. He tries breathing, but he feels light headed. His wrist hurts. He gets these butterflies in his stomach, and they flutter around in his guts, begging to leave and be free.

But then something happens, and Pete doesn’t even register the fact that he’s walking until he’s already at his locker. Patrick looks over to him, and gives him a polite smile. “Hi,” Patrick says, and wow, okay, his voice is different than what Pete expected. Pete wants to kiss him so bad.

“Hi.” Pete says. He looks away from Patrick’s smile to look in his eyes, and he holds onto the lock onto his locker to keep himself steady. He has to look away, and he does, because he doesn’t think he can really look at Patrick the way he wants to without seeming weird. He wants to stare into Patrick’s eyes forever. He’s always liked brown eyes, despite not liking his own, brown eyes are comforting and are home, his mother’s eyes are brown, and Gabe’s eyes are brown, but blue is fucking beautiful. Electric. He feels like Patrick can shock him with his eyes alone. He imagines Patrick pinning him down on his bed, holding his wrists above his head, and just staring into his eyes, electrocuting him, and he imagines his back arching up, his chest pressed flush against Patrick’s body, screaming, sobbing, begging, and-

He turns the lock on his locker, and opens it, and curses his stupid fucked up brain. He tries to keep his breathing steady, and he pulls out his copy of ‘Othello’. And he goes to close his locker, and walk away, walk straight into the bathroom and jerk off and think about Patrick Stumph while he does, and hate himself for it but then he hears Patrick’s locker close, and then suddenly Patrick’s face is in his line of view. “My name is Patrick.” Patrick says, cheerily. He has no idea what Pete was just thinking. Sometimes Pete believes that everyone can hear his thoughts.

“Hi,” Pete repeats, his eyes darting from left to right. He doesn’t look Patrick in the eyes, and Patrick frowns a little at that.

“I’m, _um_ , Pete. I’m Pete.”

“Oh! Aren’t you in my English class?” He asks, before his eyes widen a little, as his eyes search Pete’s bruised face- Patrick now probably recognizes Pete from his tragic fall. Pete wants to die.

“Yeah, third period. It’s too early for analyzing poems, if you ask me.” _No one fucking asked you, Pete_ , a little voice in his head tells him. He ignores it.

“I know, I agree! But I think it gets my thoughts going, you know, I have music theory in the morning and that comes like second nature to me, and then after that I have a free period, so I’m still pretty much asleep by third period, and then after that I have gym, and I’m super accident prone, so at least English keeps me on my toes, and helps me to wake up, and then after that and—sorry, I’m babbling.” Patrick says in one breath.

Pete thinks Patrick and Ashlee would be great friends- Ashlee talks until she’s blue in the face, takes a deep breath, and then talks some more.

“No, it’s okay,” Pete says, and he clears his throat. “I don’t, um, mind, um.” He absolutely can’t talk. He doesn’t really know what he expected, considering the fact he can’t even look Patrick in the eyes but… he thought he had more game than this.

“So, you have gym today, right?” He eventually asks, and he stumbles over his words still. But either Patrick noticed and didn’t say anything, or he really didn’t, because he looks up to the ceiling, as if to remember, and he gives Pete another blinding smile- _his teeth are so perfect_ , Pete thinks. And then he frowns. _Okay, that’s kind of weird, even for you._

“Um, yeah, I do! Why, what do you have?” Patrick asks, still looking at Pete with expectant eyes. “Yeah, I do too,” Pete says, before he waits a second, and he says, “Gym is the worst. We don’t even do anything fun for the first 2 months.”

He’s totally and completely winging this conversation- he can hardly breathe, but he’s somehow getting these words out. But Patrick nods a little reluctantly, “Well, I don’t really like gym either way, but yeah… and at least we get a free period for the rest of the week, right?”

“Yeah… that’s true.” “Yeah…”

And this is the part where Pete closes his locker, tries to come up with a better subject than fucking gym class, walks and talks with Patrick until they get to Patrick’s first period classroom, and that’s when Pete charms Patrick and gets him to go out with him, even though Pete barely knows him, and he barely knows Pete.

Except, that’s not what happens. Because this is Pete’s life.

So, instead: Pete goes to slam his locker shut, but in between listening to Patrick’s voice (which, a few cracks aside, is smooth and silky), and looking at Patrick’s fucking perfect face, and in between just being in Patrick’s general vicinity, Pete forgets to move his hand out of the way, or specifically, his index finger. So... Pete slams his locker door against his finger.

Patrick’s eyes widen, Pete’s eyes widen, and Pete’s “ _MOTHER FUCKING FUCKER_!!!” rings throughout the empty, stupid hallway.

* * *

The way that line soccer works is that the gym class gets divided in half, and the two teams go on opposite sides of the gym, and gets in a line. The teacher then gives each kid a number, a 1, 2, or 3, and the idea is that one number gets called, and the rest of the team acts as a goalie, and the numbers called have to try to get past the barrier and score a goal.

Pete’s a pro at line soccer; not only because he’s _sorta_ the captain of the soccer team now that the last captain graduated last year, but also because… the entire thing is so easy. Everyone hates it, Pete included, but it’s the easiest thing in the world. Pete’d take it over running laps, or playing football, or walking the track with Ashlee when she had to rant about her cheer mates.

And everyone knows the way the game is set: Ashlee, Gabe, and Pete separate themselves strategically so that they all are number 3s — Patrick, on the other side of the room, is also a 3 — or maybe he just doesn’t want to get on the court. People do that a lot too, not that Pete blames them. Some people take it way too seriously.

“I think you’re kind of obsessed,” Gabe says, after listening to Pete ramble on about Patrick for about 15 minutes. He shakes his head, “Like, this isn’t healthy, bro.”

“That’s what I told him! But he never listens to me.” Ashlee agrees with Gabe, and Pete glares at her a little. Like, ‘ _OK, Ashlee, we get it, you like Gabe, but you don’t have to agree with everything he says’_ — but then he thinks a little, and no, he is a little obsessed. He thought about Patrick’s eyes all English period, and even free-wrote about them. But… it’s not like Pete _wants_ to be tragically into Patrick.

“Whatever. What’s wrong with having a crush?”

Someone attempts to kick a ball in Gabe, Pete, and Ashlee’s direction- Ashlee shrieks and hides behind Gabe, but then Gabe runs out of the way, frantically, so Pete rolls his eyes and kicks the ball back onto the court. “You guys are so stupid. The ball isn’t going to hit you!”

“Sorry, not all of us are on the soccer team and are used to having balls thrown and kicked at us!” Ashlee replies, a hand on her hip. Gabe tries to stifle his laughter, but it ends up seeping through his fingers, from where he’s covering his mouth, “Haha, balls.”

Ashlee swirls around on her heel, and her pigtails almost hit Pete in the face- she gives Gabe one of her signature glares, before she turns back to Pete. “It’s true! So–”

Suddenly, the whistle blows, and their teacher yells out ‘3!’ — so Pete, Ashlee, and Gabe go running towards the middle of the gym. After that, everything’s pretty much a blur– Pete runs around, kicks the ball a couple of times, passes it to his friends, but then he sees the blue on Patrick’s shirt.

He’s not really putting much effort in it – at all. Like, Patrick is better than the girl talking on her phone and walking on the borders of the court, but he’s not really running after the ball as much as he’s trying not to get run into, or get the ball kicked at him. He just looks at everyone with wide eyes, and he speed walks out of Gabe’s way when Gabe runs towards the ‘net’- the wall on the other side.

“Pete!” Pete hears Ashlee scream at him, and he sees the ball coming his way, but his peripheral vision really fucks him over- he sees the soft blue cotton of Patrick’s shirt from the corner of his eye, and that makes him think of Patrick’s eyes, electric blue, baby blue, the color of the sea, and everything in his brain becomes mushy.

He feels people start to crowd in on him, because, again, everyone is out for blood in this game, so Pete kicks the ball.

Except he was still looking at Patrick. And he loses his footing on the kick, because he kicked too high, so Pete falls backwards, his arms flailing out, barely cushioning his fall. He rolls on his side, from the impact, and he gets kicked in the face by someone with dirty shoes, and just when he thinks it can’t get worse, he hears another thud, and as the crowd dissipates, he sees the same soft blue cotton shirt on the floor- connected to Patrick, who got hit in the face with the ball and fell.

“Oh... _shit_.” Gabe says, looking back and forth between Pete and Patrick, and Ashlee holds a hand out to help Pete up, “Maybe Patrick likes getting hit square in the face with a soccer ball that feels hard enough to be a basketball, huh?” 

* * *

“I am… I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t see you, I mean, I _did_ , but I didn’t realize… and then… You can slap me across the face if you want! So we’re even!”

Pete’s not really sure why Patrick slapping him across the face was the first thing that came to mind… but it’s too late for him to take it back now and, again, around Patrick, there’s really no filter from his brain to his mouth, because Pete’s too busy screaming internally, a constant stream of _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_.

They’re walking down to the nurse’s office together. After the whole fiasco, their gym teacher sent them down ‘just in case’. Not that Pete’s really complaining, even though the fact that he’s going down there for the second time in the day (…and the third time since school started which was _yesterday_ ) is sort of embarrassing. It’s just even more unnerving because… Patrick Stumph is walking down with him. Pete has to hold onto the railings when they walk down the stairs, just in case he looks over and loses his footing again.

“I’m not gonna…. not gonna slap you across the face, Pete!” Patrick says, and okay, yeah, Pete’s grip on that railing definitely tightens when Patrick says his name, “And you don’t have to apologize again, you apologized, like, 10 times already. I know you really didn’t mean to, you know… hit me with the ball.”

Technically speaking, Pete has more to show than Patrick, in terms of injury – there’s a blossoming bruise on his right cheek, where there’s practically nothing on Patrick’s. Still, though, Pete’s pretty fucking sure you’re not supposed to kick a ball in the face of someone you like. So he sighs, and shakes his head, “I know, but… it’d make me feel better if you just punched me, or slapped me, or something. So we could be even.”

Patrick’s eyebrows raise, and he scoffs a little, “Oh, I’m glad it’d make _you_ feel better.” But he says it through somewhat of a laugh, so Pete doesn’t start freaking out yet. Or, rather, start freaking out even more.

“How about… you take me out for some French fries and a milkshake, and then I’ll call it even.” Patrick suggests, and he says this in a super calm and collected voice, in a way doesn’t even sound like a joke, in a way that sounds like he planned this, like he wanted to maybe kinda ask Pete out and Pete kind of looks over to him like, “ _wait, what the FUCK did you just say_?”

Patrick just kind of smiles a little, and he keeps quiet, like he’s just taking in Pete’s reaction, but his smile turns into an ‘O’ shape when Pete, too busy staring at Patrick with wide eyes, walks straight into a wall.

“ _Oof_!” Pete exclaims, and he almost falls back on his ass, again, but then Patrick sort of catches him, Pete’s fuckin’ knight in shining armor, and Patrick laughs for real this time, hearty and loud and kind of obnoxious but in a way that Pete’s into, because he has the same laugh. “Or maybe we’re even now, huh?”

“No! I mean, yes, but… I’m still gonna take you out, okay? I like fries, and milkshakes, and you’re…” He trails off, but he thinks Patrick gets the gist of it, before Patrick smiles, a small tint of red in his cheeks, “Um, thanks. And hey, let’s get you into the nurse. I think I see another bruise forming on your cheek." 

* * *

“I have to bail on you 6th and 7th period!” Pete and Ashlee say at the same time, before they both say, also at the same time, “Wait, what?”, and then “You first!”

It’s so stupid– Pete sort of hates himself for being so in tune with her.

“Hold on,” Ashlee says, closing her locker, and leaning up against it. “You’re bailing on me?! Why?!”

“You’re bailing on me too! And…” He’s sort of standing right in the middle of the hallway, so he moves in closer, until he’s directly face-to-face with her- “I sorta have a date with Patrick? We’re gonna go to the diner and get some fries and a milkshake. Why are _you_ bailing on me?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ashlee says, and she gives Pete a look that screams ‘ _what you’re saying is bullshit’_ – “You did not. You… wait, what the fuck, Pete! What the fuck!”

“What’d Pete do now?” Gabe asks, appearing out of nowhere. Technically, he came out of his classroom, but Ashlee jumps at the sound of his voice and her eyes dart back and forth between Gabe and Pete. “I’m so… wait, but you… huh?!”

“What’d Pete do?” Gabe asks again, and Pete tries to shrug nonchalantly, but his face hurts from grinning so hard. “Patrick and I are going out 6th and 7th.”

Gabe’s jaw drops, and he looks over to Ashlee, who still looks shocked, and he looks back to Pete. “I agree with Ashlee… how’d you pull that off?!”

“I’ve been in love with the same guy since freshmen year and… Pete! _Pete_!” Ashlee exclaims, and she shakes his shoulders a little. “Teach me your ways!”

“I’m still a little confused as to how this happened, you legitimately hit this kid in the face with a soccer ball not even 30 minutes ago.” Gabe says, but then he just shrugs, and pats Pete on the shoulder, “But, I mean, congrats? You have balls, bro. I can’t believe you worked up the courage to-”

“No, no, no, I’m a pussy, Patrick asked me.” Pete says, and Ashlee bangs her head against the lockers. “I hate my life.” She says, proceeding to bang her head into the lockers a bunch more times before Gabe wraps an arm around her shoulder, and pulls her closer to him, away from the lockers. “Yo, _chill out, Ash_. You’re too cool for Joe anyways.”

“Yeah, Ash, _Joe_.”  Pete snickers- Ashlee’s reasoning for referring to Gabe as ‘Joe’ with Gabe doesn’t really go past ‘they’re both Jewish’- and Ashlee narrows her eyes at him, although he can barely see it, because she’s burying her face in Gabe’s shirt. “Be quiet, Pete. But… yeah, how did Patrick… _Patrick_ asked you out?”

“Yeah, he did! Or, okay… so I told Patrick to slap me across the face basically, you know, feeling bad for hitting him in the face, and I wanted us to be even, and then he was like… like, ‘How about you take me out? Then we can be even’, and… I literally almost _came_ , you know? I mean, I walked into a wall, but... “

“He’s so smooth… I thought he was kinda nerdy, but wow. New kid. Who would have thought?” Gabe says, and Pete nods his head super fast, “Yeah, yeah, I know! I’m so into it, oh my god. I sound like Ashlee right now.” He looks to Ashlee, “No offense…”

“You can’t say offensive things and then say ‘no offense’ and expect me not to take offense!” She whines, but then her facial expressions softens a little, and she says, “But… even though I’m super jealous of you right now, I hope you guys have a good time. Don’t play any of your crappy music for him.”

Which is probably the most sincere Ashlee can get, so Pete takes it and reminds himself to give the AUX chord to Patrick when they get in his car.

The late bell rings, and Pete, Ashlee, and Gabe all glance at each other, before they sprint to their respective classrooms. 

* * *

“Hi.” Pete says, breathless, when the ramp doors from the school open, and Patrick walks out, a binder at his side. “Hi.” He says back, and he gives Pete this smile that makes Pete’s knees (practically) turn to jelly.

This is the part where it gets weird, though- weird as in Pete’s never really had to initiate a conversation with someone new in so long. There’s no one new to meet in their school, no one that Pete wants to meet anyways, and he’s so used to slipping into conversations from the second that he sees his friends, his family, etc.

And now, here’s this fucking hot, beautiful guy that _asked Pete out_ , and Pete doesn’t know the first thing to say.

 _What if this wasn’t even a date? Maybe wherever Patrick’s from, taking someone out for fries and milkshake is ‘no homo’? What if Patrick isn’t even gay, why did you even assume Patrick was gay in the first place? What if Patrick is a huge dick? What if Patrick_ has _a huge… okay, off topic, okay, say something before he thinks you’re even stranger than he knows you are._

“So… dicks!” _Why the fuck do you do this to yourself?_

Patrick blinks at him, and he laughs nervously when he approaches Pete, “Yeah… dicks. They’re, um,” he pauses. “pretty cool. I guess.”

I’m really sorry.” Pete says, bringing a hand up to his forehead, “You probably think I’m, like, I don’t know, but I’m… is this a date? Or am I just…” and Patrick shifts on his feet a little, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do _you_ want it to be a date?”

“Do you want it to be?” Pete asks, and Patrick retaliates with, “I asked you first!”, and then he pushes his glasses up the slope of his nose as he says, “But uh… yeah. I want it to be a date. If you do.”

“Yeah, I like the sound of that.” Pete says – big fuckin’ understatement. Pete might believe in God again, just because of this singular moment.

“Yeah, me too.” There’s a silence, where Pete and Patrick sort of just blink at each other, and Pete breaks it by gesturing wildly to the parking lot, “So! Um, so we can just walk to my car, and I know this really good diner a couple of blocks away? I promise I’ll get us back before 7th ends.”

“Okay.” Patrick shrugs, and he follows Pete when he starts walking towards his car AKA the rustiest car in the world. “How’s your face? After, y’know?”

Pete turns back for a moment, and he moves in a little closer for Patrick to see – his face is totally fucked. Between his nose, and the bruises on his cheeks, he looks like he just came out from a fist fight, minus all of the blood. But then, suddenly Patrick’s really close, and Pete can see the specs of dirt on his glasses, smell the tiniest, teeniest hint of cologne on him, the _good_ kind, not the AXE kind that 8 th graders use, and Pete almost swoons. Patrick’s so… _Patrick_. Which sounds stupid, because he barely knows him, but. Patrick is so Patrick.

“Bad.” Pete answers simply, and Patrick hums, “Are you always this clumsy?”

“Not really. You’re just really enchanting and I can’t help at look at you, and then I. You know. Fall down stairs, and walk into walls.” OK, Pete has _some_ lines. Patrick immediately turns red, and he hides to hide his smile by looking away. “Oh,” He says, and he looks back over, still with his smile on his face, “That’s so corny.”

“I’m a corny guy.” “Yeah, no kidding.” Patrick bumps his shoulder with Pete’s, and this is totally, 100% in Pete’s mind, but he feels electricity from where Patrick touched him. He thinks he’s going insane.

They get to Pete’s car, and Patrick doesn’t say anything about how gross and gritty and grimy and grody it is, so that’s cool – Ashlee and Gabe never miss opportunities to make fun of it. Not that he really blames them but… it’s nice to be accepted. Or, rather, have his car accepted.

By the time that Pete remembers that he should probably open Patrick’s door for him, because that’s what he sees in all of those movies, Patrick’s already settled in the passenger seat, putting his seat belt on. So, he just goes to the door to the driver’s seat, and he attempts to step in, but then Patrick makes this noise, this _moaning_ sound, as he stretches, and next thing Pete knows, he’s banging his head against the top of the car, and falling into the seat, barely missing slamming his face onto the gear stick.

“Oh my God,” Patrick says, muffled from his hand covering his mouth, and he can’t help but laugh a little when Pete looks up at him with a miserable expression on his face. “ _Ow_.”

And after Patrick asks Pete, like, a million times if he’s okay or not (he’s not, he just mostly wants to take a nap and die because this is so so so so so so so so _so_ embarrassing, but he doesn’t say that), Pete hands him the AUX cord. “My friends said to give you the cord, because my music sucks.”

“Does your music suck?” Patrick asks, but he’s already connecting his phone to it. Pete turns the engine on, and he looks over to Patrick, his tongue peeking out of his mouth as he scrolls through his music library, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know. I guess. I like it, but–“ “So then your music can’t really suck, right? I mean, like, who is to say that any kind of music sucks? I mean… I’m not the biggest fan of country, but technically, if I were to like country, but that would be… okay, do you like ‘The Kooks’?”

Pete shrugs, again. He likes doing this. Almost as much as Patrick likes rambling. “Never heard of them.”

“Okay, I’ll put a song on. It’s, um, not country. By the way.”

It’s sort of hard to describe what happens next.

Like Pete’s only, like, 17. And he doesn’t know what love is. But this, having Patrick, this beautiful guy that he’s known for a total of 20 minutes, next to him, playing this song, this song that feels like the embodiment of love, while driving out of the parking lot of school at 11:30 on a school day feels like heaven, like the sweetest thing he’s ever experienced. He’s driving 40 in a 20 MPH and he’s afraid of killing someone, but Patrick’s music is blaring through the speakers, and there’s no one on the streets, and he rolls the windows down, and the warm sun hits their arms, and he just feels really free. It’s one of the weirdest things ever.

It’s also mostly silent between the two of them. But that makes sense, because Pete’s listening to stuff that Patrick likes, and it’s so loud that it’s filling his veins and coursing through his blood, and ‘ _I wanna make you happy / I wanna make you feel alive’_ , and wow. Wow. It’s a comfortable silence, except it’s not ‘comfortable’ like relaxing on a sofa, but it’s screaming at the top of your lungs at a concert.

“I REALLY LIKE YOUR MUSIC!” Pete says eventually, and Patrick grins back to him, and says “THANKS!” 

* * *

“Do you miss your friends back home?” Pete asks, mid-French Fry-bite. Some ketchup smears on the side of his mouth, and he wipes it with his thumb, before wiping that on his jeans.

It’s the little things that Pete notices. Like, Patrick likes vanilla milkshakes, while Pete’s incredibly loyal to strawberry, and Patrick pours his ketchup over his fries, while Pete moves the fries over and leaves a spot just for ketchup. Patrick licks ketchup off of his finger, Pete wipes it on his jeans (he internally groans when he realizes just how many stains he’s leaving. Ketchup by itself is fucking disgusting.)

But now, Pete notices the way that Patrick’s smile falters a little, and his eyes shift from looking into Pete’s to his plate of bloody looking fries.

“Um, yeah. I really do.” Patrick says, before he clears his throat and looks back up, “But, um, I still talk to them, it’s not like we broke contact the second that I left, but… I don’t know. Have you ever moved?”

“No.” Pete answers, and Patrick nods. “Yeah, then I don’t know how to really… nowhere really feels like home. And my friends, I really love them, but I don’t see them, I can’t drive all the way across the state to see them every day, and I can’t relate to anything they say anymore, and it just sucks. But I guess it’s kind of exciting. I mean, I met you.” He says, and Pete smiles back. “Yeah, you met me. Unfortunate for you.” “You’re not that bad, shut up. When you’re not kicking things and hitting me in the face, that is.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, huh?” “Probably not. But technically we are even now, so…” He trails off, and takes another sip of his (vanilla) milkshake before he continues to talk, “I don’t have to bring it up, it’s just… well, I only just met you this morning. So, it’s pretty much the only thing we have in common.”

Well, Patrick’s really different than anyone Pete’s ever met before, like he’s not sure if he’s ever met someone so blatantly blunt before. But it’s keeping him on his toes- it’s not weird, and it’s not talking about the weather for 40 minutes.

“Uh, yeah,” Pete says, filler, and he dips a fry into the ketchup and pops it into his mouth, “You wanna play 20 questions?”

Patrick snorts a little, “What, and like 10 questions in are you gonna ask me if I’m a virgin?” “I was _gonna_ ask what your favorite color is!” “Oh. Um, orange. You?”

And that’s how they end up playing 20 questions, but they lose count of exactly how many questions they ask, so it’s ends up being ‘36+ questions’- in that time, they finish up their fries and milkshakes, and Pete pays, but they sit around for a little longer, sipping from their water.

“Okay… have you ever broken a bone before?” Patrick asks, and Pete groans a little, running his hands over his face before he looks at Patrick through his fingers, “Yes. I’ve broken my nose 3 times, my right foot, and my left arm. And I fractured my middle finger once.”

“I’ve never met anyone more clumsy than you.” He says jokingly, and Pete rolls his eyes. “I’m not that clumsy!”

He waves his hand around as he says this, and he knocks down one of their glasses of water, causing the entire thing to spill on him. Water splashes onto the floor, all over Pete’s jeans, and the glass rolls over on its side, all the way down the table, before it crashes to the floor, shattering shards of glass all over. Patrick raises his eyebrow, and Pete only wishes that the water would wash him away too. And his ketchup stains.

“You were saying?” 

* * *

They’re not dating.

Pete would have to actually ask Patrick out for them to be dating, but he hasn’t really done that yet. He’s not sure why he’s afraid of being rejected, considering the fact that they’ve been hanging out for a month, and they’ve been shamelessly flirting. Like, shameless. Ashlee watches them together, and when Patrick walks away, she hits him on the side of his head and calls him an idiot, because they’re such a couple, but they’re not.

Again, Pete’s kind of a pussy. In his own words.

Right now, they’re hanging out in Pete’s room, doing homework. Patrick’s on his stomach on Pete’s bed, and Pete’s on the floor (he concentrates better when he’s not on his bed, but it’s not like he could concentrate with Patrick around anyways). “Okay, wait, I’m kinda confused. He wants us to annotate the poem and write the summary on that, or write the summary on the other thing we had to annotate, the… the…” Pete looks up, and Patrick flashes a whole packet in his face, “the first one? Or, wait–"

“He said we have to annotate the first one in that packet, and then annotate the poem and write a summary for both.” Pete replies, and Patrick rolls over until he’s off the bed, and he gets up. “I’m so bored, I don’t wanna do this.”

“Me neither, but I don’t want to fail, and not get into college, and end up homeless when my parents inevitably kick me out because I didn’t get into college.” “You’re not gonna fail because you didn’t annotate a passage. But anyways– I meant, like, I’m bored, so let’s put on music.”

He strolls on over to Pete’s stereo, and Pete immediately perks up, “Wait, no, not–“

“I wanna hear what music your friends hate!” Patrick says, and Pete shakes his head, “But it’s so lame, this isn’t even what I listen to, it’s, like, guilty pleasure stuff, and it’s not even–“ there’s no use; Patrick’s already grinning devilishly, and he presses ‘play’ and then… well, B-52 blasts through his speakers.

Patrick’s jaw drops, and he says over the music, “You like B-52?! Dude, come on!”

“I don’t! I mean, I do, but it’s guilty pleasure, okay, it’s not even my CD, it’s my mom’s, oh my god, just–“ “It’s cute! Come on, dance with me!”

The song that Patrick just so tragically happened to play was ‘Juliet of the Spirits’ — a song that Pete sort of loves. But even he draws the line at dancing around in his room with _Patrick Stumph_ to _B-52_.

“No, I don’t wanna!” Pete argues, but Patrick doesn’t take that as an answer, and he moves in closer to him, and he takes Pete’s hands, then he moves in closer to Pete, and oh God, Pete can smell Patrick’s hair, and he can feel him all around, and _then_ before Pete knows it, they’re kissing.

He’s not even sure who initiates it. All he knows is that Patrick’s lips are on his, and one hand is resting on his hip, and the other is cupping his jaw. And it’d be really nice, fuck, this is all Pete wants, but then Pete gets so caught up in surprise that he sort of jerks back a little, and his feet get tangled in some dirty clothes on the floor, so then he trips onto his bed, _but since_ Patrick’s hands are still on him, Patrick comes down with him.

And even then, that’d be hot; the both of them making out on Pete’s bed, but then Patrick’s glasses slide off his face, so that Pete moves to get them, but then he knocks his head into Patrick’s nose, and Patrick moans in pain, and he goes, “Pete, fuck!”, which also _could_ be hot, but then Pete moves away, and then he sees blood start to pour out of Patrick’s nose, and. Well. Yeah. Not so hot anymore.

“Oh my God! Patrick! I’m so sorry!” Pete exclaims, and he grabs something off the floor for Patrick to press to his nose, except he picks up some boxer briefs, and the song is still playing in the background, like some shitty background music to a play entitled _‘Pete’s Life’_.

And now Patrick’s laughing, because Pete just threw his _underwear_ at him, except Patrick’s nose is still bleeding, so now Patrick’s _nose blood_ is on his sheets, and everything is a fucking disaster.

“I’m, oh my God, fuck, I didn’t mean to do that, like I really didn’t… here, take this!” Pete practically screeches, and he throws a (relatively) clean shirt in Patrick’s direction, and just as the song ends, Pete dives towards the stereo, and he turns it off. So then, the only sound in the room is coming from Patrick, laughing, and Pete’s rushed breathing.

“That, um…” Patrick says, a little nasally since he’s still pressing one of Pete’s shirts to his nose, once he finally stops hysterically laughing, and Pete hops back onto his bed and sighs. “I’m so fucking sorry that happened, I didn’t-“ “I know you didn’t mean to knock me in the face with your head, it’s totally fine.” Patrick says, through a small laugh, and he pulls Pete’s shirt away from his nose with a grimace.

And it’s so gross, like it’s so fucking gross, because his nose isn’t bleeding anymore, but y’know, his nose is still tinged with red and there are still drops of blood on his sheets, but Pete kind of moves closer, and he says, “I really, um, did want to kiss you, I was just caught by surprise. And then I made your nose bleed and threw my underwear at you.”

And then Patrick brings Pete in by his shirt and kisses him again. And even though that kiss tasted like blood, it was still great. Blood aside. Like seriously, blood aside.

* * *

“We’re gonna be late for first period, Pete! I don’t think Patrick cares about flowers, he’s not a chick!” Ashlee exclaims, but to no avail. Pete’s already parking his car haphazardly into a spot outside of a flower shop by a small strip a couple of blocks away from the school building. “You can walk! And we’re not gonna be late, we have 40 minutes until the bell rings!”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna take 12 years to pick out stuff! And again- Patrick probably won’t care because he’s not a chick!” Ashlee yells at him, huffing as she unbuckles her seat-belt, kicks the door open, gets out, and slams the door shut. She crosses her arms as Pete locks the car doors, and walks around to her side, “That’s why I have you with me, you’re gonna help me pick something out. And I don’t know how to impress a guy. Our society is, like, fuckin’… fuckin’ heteronormative, the only thing I know is getting flowers and holding doors open.”

“If anything, Patrick should be getting you the flowers. You’re definitely the girl in the relationship.” Ashlee says, and Pete rolls his eyes. Ashlee just says these things to be annoying.

“You’re such a bottom,” Ashlee continues, as they walk into the shop, “I can’t imagine–“ and then she stops, because they see Gabe, buying some red roses. “Oh my God!” Ashlee exclaims, and she hides behind Pete’s back so that Gabe doesn’t see her, “Who the heck is he buying flowers for?!”

“Probably not you since he thinks you’re into Joe Trohman.” Pete answers truthfully, and Ashlee tugs on his hair, “Asshole. But seriously, has he–“

She stops talking when Gabe spots them, and makes his way over. “Oh, hey Pete!” and then he sees Ashlee step from behind Pete, and he moves the flowers behind his back _totally_ nonchalant ( _totally!!!_ ), and says, “Oh, hey Ashlee…”

“Hey Gabe.” Ashlee says timidly, and she eyes down the roses that peak out behind Gabe’s back. “Who’s the flowers for?”

This is so awkward. Pete feels obligated to just move on and find something for Patrick already, but this is too good to miss, and Pete isn’t above being nosy when it comes to his friend’s business.

“It’s, um… well, it’s, um… for you?” Gabe says, and his voice cracks on the ‘you’— both Ashlee and Pete’s eyes widen, and they both look to each other, and back at Gabe, “Huh?!”

Again, Pete and Ashlee are too in sync for their own good.

“Um, Pete? Can you…” Gabe trails off, and Pete groans a little, but he walks away anyways, mouthing, ‘good luck’ to Ashlee. And then he starts roaming the aisles of the flower shop, before he stops on some yellow flowers.

 _Yellows signifies friendship_ , he thinks, _but red is too intense. I mean, what I feel for him is intense, but… yellow is calm. Comforting. Everything he’s gonna be missing if he wants to be with me… I love self-deprecation._

He looks over to Gabe and Ashlee, and they look deep in conversation, but Ashlee has the red roses in her hands, and they’re pressed close to her chest. And she has a huge smile on her face. It matches the red lipstick she’s wearing and the red pea-coat over her cheerleading outfit.

He finds himself getting the yellow flowers packaged up, and he holds them close to his chest the same way that Ashlee clings to her red roses. “Um… I think I’m gonna walk with Gabe to school.” Ashlee says to Pete, and she’s leaning into Gabe’s side, smiling wide.

“You’re gonna be late.” Pete sing-songs. She punches Pete’s arm and rolls her eyes playfully, “Shut up, ugly.”

He brings the yellow flowers to his nose, and breathes in the scene of… well, nothing, except the smell of the store, but it’s still nice. He just hopes Patrick likes them.

* * *

“Oh, um... flowers.” Patrick says, looking at Pete with unblinking eyes. Pete feels a small part of his soul getting crushed. Why does this happen to him? Why can’t anything good happen to him?

“Uh… I can take them back if you want.” Pete says, and Patrick hands the flowers back to him with a grimace.

Pete’s starting to get choked up.

This is so stupid.

Why did he think Patrick would like him?

Why does he do this? Make up fantasies in his head?

 _Why_?

“They’re really nice, _I guess_ , but- hey, what’s wrong?” Patrick asks, like he didn’t fucking just give Pete back the flowers that he was giving to him, like he didn’t fucking just fucking ruin Pete’s fucking life even though Pete should have fucking seen this happening in the fucking first place because he’s a fucking moron. Fuck.

“What’s wrong?” Pete repeats, with a small hint of malice in his voice, and he almost throws the flowers down and like. Stomp on them the way that Patrick stomped all over his heart. Patrick just looks at him weirdly.

“Yeah…” Patrick trails off, and he zips up his mustard yellow hoodie up. “You just… I, you just told me to take back the flowers I was gonna give you! Is this your way of-“ and then Patrick gasps, and he shakes his head, “Wait, fuck, wait, no, I thought, I moved, I forgot, I’m, um. Allergic to flowers? I thought you knew. And that’s why I was confused why you would give them to me. And asked you to take them back.”

Pete visibly relaxes- his heart unclenches, and his shoulder slump back down, and Patrick brings a hand up to his mouth, “You thought…” and then he moves it so that he can wrap his arms around Pete’s neck, and he says against his skin, “No, I’d definitely accept your flowers. I mean, I kind of feel stuffy right now, and I’m, like, 2 seconds from sneezing on you. But….”

“Be my boyfriend?” Pete asks with a new surge of confidence cause Patrick’s allergic to flowers! He’s _allergic to flowers_! And Patrick sneezes, but then he nods, and he says, “I’ll be your boyfriend.”, and then he sneezes _again_ , and then Pete bumps into someone on the way to the garbage can to dump the flowers and he bangs his head against a locker, and they look totally and completely crazy, walking together to the nurse at 8AM, Pete for the bump on his forehead and Patrick because his eyes are watering and he _can’t_ _stop sneezing_ , but they’re together, and it’s _awesome_.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u guys enjoyed that? maybe? idk!


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